I want to write, but my dog, Lexi, is on my lap. Her head is where I rest my right arm when I type. She had a hard night. Wind-driven rain pelted the windows on the north side of our house, things were blowing all over the place outside, a roof vent was squeaking, and something was making a sound like water hitting an empty metal bucket one drop at a time. Lexi started shaking and licking my face in the middle of the night, even though this type of storm isn’t new to her. I finally got her calmed down. She’s tired today and still somewhat concerned about all this wind, which makes our home howl periodically as if it’s haunted. I don’t have the heart to move her, but as long as I’m pinned in, I can’t write. My body is too restricted.

I will say this: The laccolith is beautiful today dusted in fresh snow and capped by clouds.

Soon, I’ll move Lexi. Soon.